


Thirteenth

by isitandwonder



Series: Sherlock Advent Calendar [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cum Play, Dom John, M/M, Sub Sherlock Holmes, mild spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5416037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isitandwonder/pseuds/isitandwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the 13th, which calls for mild spanking and a bit of discipline.<br/>Just pure filthy smut - again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirteenth

“For fuck's sake, Sherlock...!” John storms into their living room, dressed only in his track suit bottoms. He's been running in Regent's Park and now desperately wants a shower, which is somehow impeded because… _something_ … is soaking in the tub.

„What's that in the bathroom?“

Sherlock looks up, slightly alarmed. 

“Did you touch it?”

“No, of course not. Knowing you, it could be a dead dog macerating in hydrochloric acid.”

“Hydrofluoric acid.” Sherlock amends, sounding utterly bored.

“Dear god… so I was right about the dog?”

“It's an experiment. I'm testing the impact of corrosive acids on natural fibres.”

“So it's not a dog, then?”

“No! Why would I risk alerting the RSPCA? It's that ghastly jumper of yours, the itchy one with the snowflakes on it. If they aren't visible anymore, my assumption has been correct. Shall I elaborate?”

“That was a present from my sister!” John growls.

“You don't get on, so I thought you wouldn't mind.”

“I very much doubt that. Don't tell me _you_ spared one thought as to _my_ opinion on you helping yourself to my stuff - again.”

Sherlock just shrugs and returns to the journal he'd been reading when John had started shouting.

“Sherlock, I'm talking to you.”

“I actually can hear you without looking at you,” Sherlock retorts languidly and suddenly John snaps. He determinedly walks over to Sherlock's chair, pushes his left hand into his startled flatmate's curls and pulls – hard. Sherlock's head jerks back as his magazine lands on the floor.

“But I want you to keep looking at me. Are we understood?” John's voice is dangerously low and Sherlock's eyes go wide as he tries to nod.

“I can't hear you.”

“Yes… John.”

John can see the pulse hammering in Sherlock's long pale throat. He pulls Sherlock's soft hair again, just to be sure and Sherlock hisses.

“You'll answer when I ask you a question.”

“Yes… John.”

“That wasn't a question.” John slaps Sherlock's face with the back of his less dominant right hand, nevertheless leaving a burning red mark on milky skin. Suddenly the vision of Sherlock's deliciously white body stretched out before him, waiting to be broken, corrupted and owned makes John feel hot all over, despite his sparse clothing. His arousal is heightened when Sherlock's mouth falls open in a needy moan that goes straight to John's cock.

“You like that, you filthy slut.”

“God, yes, John.”

“That wasn't a question either.” Another smack hits Sherlock's cheek. “I think it's time to teach you some manners.”

With that, John drags Sherlock out of his chair by his glossy black hair and manhandles him face down onto his nearby desk. A mug of pencils, papers, books and a marble Napoleon bust crash and clatter to the floor but neither John nor Sherlock care about it. John just shoves Sherlock's face firmly onto the still cluttered table, scolding: “Look at all the rubbish you litter our flat with.” He very insistently rubs his by now very hard cock against Sherlock's arse, making his intentions quite clear. Sherlock pushes back against him, gasping.

“Who'd thought you'd be such a needy thing?”

Despite being a question, this time no answer comes forward. John has to remind his flatmate of their newly established rules by pulling the belt form his silky blue dressing gown, tying his slim wrists firmly behind his back.

Sherlock – being a genius – catches on and literally begs: “Please, John...”

“What?”

“Please, John, I'm sorry.”

“What for?”

“For… the mess I've made.”

“I can't even take a shower. I'm sweaty all over and you'll have to endure that. Now, will you be a good boy?”

“Yes, John, I promise.”

“If you'll be really well-behaved, I might allow you to lick me clean afterwards. Would you like that?”

“God, yes!” Sherlock enthusiastically ruts against the table's edge and John has to still him with a decisive slap on his arse.

“I see you desperately need to be taken to task. Do you know what I do with a greedy little cockslut like you? I'll spank your tight poncy bottom until you beg me to fuck it good and hard.”

Sherlock pants and whimpers in anticipation while John rummages through the desk's drawers until he finds a suitable object for the task at hand: a long wooden ruler.  


John pushes Sherlock's dressing gown up over his hips and pulls his thin pyjama bottoms and grey boxer briefs down. Sherlock's hard cock gets in the way but John shows no mercy as it roughly bobs against the hard surface of the table.

“Hm, so very eager... What do you think? How many strokes do you deserve?”

“Ten?” Sherlock whispers, so turned on that his vision starts blurring.

John kneads his buttocks, then almost caresses Sherlock by stoking the abrasive ruler slowly over his arse from the small of Sherlock's back to the point were his backside meets his lean femur muscle. Sherlock pushes back against John, who pinches his left cheek so hard that Sherlock hisses in pain.

“Shh, we don't want to alert the neighbours.” As if that would be possible by a bit of shouting. Regarding all the explosions, gun shots and vociferous domestics, a bit of excited screaming won't attract much attention. “You know what, I'll give you twenty, just to make sure I've made an impact.”

Sherlock groans in agony but shivers expectantly.

The wood is raw and John doesn't go easy. He knows all the sensitive spots that make Sherlock gasp in pain and pleasure. Soon, Sherlock's arse is burning, decorated with bright red swelling stripes. Sherlock exhales sharply with every blow and tries to keep his body and voice under control but he can't help loosing count, which is why he whines in surprise when John eventually stops.

“Please… John… more… I need more.” Sherlock writhes and squirms while John runs his calloused fingers over his sore bottom, squeezing and petting him, murmuring “... so beautiful...,” and all of a sudden, it's too much. Sherlock's hips buck once, twice, as he comes almost untouched, sobbing and spluttering.

“God, look at you.” John pushes one hand between Sherlock's legs and drags his fingers through the slippery mess. He smears Sherlock's come down along his cleft, using it as lubricant before he finally invades Sherlock's twitching hole, watching mesmerised as the fat purple head of his cock breaches the tight sphincter. John stays there a moment to enjoy the sight of Sherlock's clenching muscle before rocking back and forth a little to boost the pleasure.

Sherlock doesn't care anymore, he screams at the brutal intrusion as John pushes all the way in until his balls are pressed against Sherlock's raw buttocks. Sherlock starts revising his theory regarding the impossibility of multiple orgasms. 

Slowly, his screams and pleas give way to ecstatic moans as John sets an erratic rhythm, fucking Sherlock hard and ruthless. His arse burns, the stretch is nearly too much and he lies in his own cooling come but it's so fucking hot that his body shivers and cramps again as another climax hits him.

He almost misses John pulling out and starts to protests but then he can feel John shoot his load all over his still red and aching arse cheeks.

“God, Sherlock, if you could only see… you are the most gorgeous filthy thing I've ever had.” John gasps as he watches his come pool in Sherlock's cleft, dripping down over his perineum and balls, dripping over raised crimson welts. “And, as the bathroom is currently occupied, I'm afraid you'll have to stay like this for the time being.” John tucks Sherlock's pants and bottoms back up over Sherlock's come covered prick and backside.

“Hm, still half hard...” John trails off as he squeezes Sherlock's cock through the thin fabric. Sherlock smiles smugly as John unties his hands with shaky fingers. 

But as he slowly gets up, Sherlock is subtly reminded that there is still one service he's expected to render: John has taken off his track suit bottoms and waits for him sitting in his chair, legs sprawled wide open.

“Now, come over here and clean me up with your potty mouth. We'll see how prone to further experiments you are after spending the afternoon on your knees, licking my balls and arsehole.”


End file.
